


Peachy Keen, Jelly Bean

by Edwardina



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Coda, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Briefly, Unique Adams had a love interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peachy Keen, Jelly Bean

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Glease coda (I actually wrote most of it before Glease aired, so the timeline is slightly off, mea culpa). I would've been pretty interested in seeing Sam and Unique interact as Kenickie and Rizzo. As always, it wasn't meant to be. Fixed it for ya~
> 
> Thank you to Kate for looking it over and listening to me blah!

It wasn't until she caught Sam Evans, the Kenickie to her Rizzo, staring at her from stage right that Unique thought twice about him.

He was cute, of course. Fine, actually, given that second thought. But in the few weeks Unique had been at McKinley and in New Directions, it had made itself abundantly obvious this guy wasn't the brains or star of the group. Boy was fine, but simple.

Simple was all right with Unique. Better a dumb blond blowup doll of a boy toy than the womanizer her girl Marley had her fool heart toyed with every other day. She honestly hadn't given him much thought, though. He was part of the glee club that had won Nationals last year, and seemed generally liked – he'd been voted vice president of the senior class – but for the stink of glee all over him, a definite blight they all felt in a school dominated by jocks and Cheerios.

But other than being an upperclassman, Sam Evans just wasn't exciting. He seemed like kind of a nerd casually standing behind the facade of a jock, hanging with the glee club because the football players wouldn't get his stupid impressions or _Game of Thrones_ references. Show choir-wise, his voice was nowhere near big or even necessary to the group. He was just a tenor that blended. He wasn't a good dancer. Every move he made was just a little tiny bit off. A warm body, Jesse St. James would have said. Not that Sam would've even made the cut with Vocal Adrenaline. He didn't have that elusive "it" factor soloists required or the attention span that Jesse's show choir boot camp demanded. Anyone who sat in the choir room during rehearsals could see that he was mostly preoccupied with Brittany S. Pierce. He was single, as far as Unique knew, but he didn't seem to think about any other girls, so he didn't even have that faint aura of game or fantasy around him that some boys did. Shame. He was just kinda forgettable, really. And Unique preferred unforgettable.

The thing that warranted him a second thought just then was the sudden realization that boyfriend was playing her – well. Boyfriend.

Unique looked back at him, watching him look her up and down. She let herself do a similar quick examination, but she was probably looking at him differently than he was looking at her.

"Yes, Sam Evans?" Unique intoned, putting a hand on her hip.

He just stood there, eyes widening slightly as he processed being caught in his stare, then smiled awkwardly with only half his mouth and looked at the scuffed stage floor instead, clearly chastised.

Maybe he was just now realizing, too, that he was going to be playing her boyfriend. A little awkward, given that Sam was one of the people who told had Unique she was not welcome at McKinley during regular school hours.

Unique lifted her nose into the air regally, above it all, perfectly secure as she turned her attentions back to Artie's detail-oriented history of the _Grease_ Broadway show versus the _Grease_ movie. Unique knew it all already. She was also already off-book and in full Rizzo regalia, even though it wasn't a dress rehearsal. Rizzo already existed in her very soul. Almost everyone else was clutching a script, as they were all rank amateurs.

After Artie's long-winded lecture was dismissed and the cast milled out of the auditorium, Unique sat Marley down backstage and gave her another falsies lesson. Eyelashes, not boobs (although Marley was flat as a board and a little enhancement, in Unique's humble opinion, wouldn't go amiss). "Bad" Sandy required colorful, shameless lips and dramatic lashes, and even though she could've done Marley's makeup for her every show, Unique decided it would be better in the long run if Marley just learned how to apply the damn things herself. Together they sat by the lit makeup mirrors and trimmed a pair to a good length for her, and Unique reminded her about their lash glue motto: tacky, tacky, tacky.

"I can't believe you're the only one that knows about all this stage makeup stuff," Marley lamented good-naturedly, leaning in and peering at herself in the mirror as she clumsily patted her lash down in place. Then she blinked, and the lash went crooked. "Oh, shoot!"

No attention paid to that little comment, which most assuredly would not have been made if Unique had been born with the right parts. There would be nothing weird about knowing about false eyelash application techniques then, of course. Unique knew Marley meant that the seniors should have been in charge of it, though.

"Don't freak. Simply nudge it to your lash line."

"I'm not getting any better at this," Marley said, obediently prodding the strip back into place.

"Girl, yes, you are. I didn't even have to put the glue on for you this time."

She perked. "Yeah! I didn't even think about that. Still, it doesn't exactly... come natural, putting all this gunk on my eye."

"Don't I know it," Unique told her. "But do anything enough and it can become second nature."

Marley sighed and squinted crookedly at herself in the mirror, hands falling pale and idle into her lap. "Anything...?"

Unique chose not to indulge the acrid self-conscious pessimism that wafted off her best girlfriend.

"Trust me. By opening night, you'll be gluing those lashes in place like you've been doing it all your life. Wear this pair home, and take the box with the demi-wispies, too. Practice every night and you'll be more comfortable in them, too, and you'll be able to refine your mascara technique."

"I don't actually –"

"Okay, no. Do not finish that sentence. I don't need to hear that you don't wear mascara." Unique dug into the leopard-print train case she used for her stage makeup until she found a tube of LashBlast, which she handed to Marley. "Here, take this."

"Oh, I can't," started Marley.

"Just who is stopping you?" Unique demanded. "Other than you? Take it. I'm a mascara fiend. I have way too many to use, especially since I was forbidden to lengthen my lashes during lunch. They just dry out if you don't use them, and they only last a few months anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Child, I will beat you over the head with a powder puff if you don't take this and use it."

Smiling sheepishly, Marley took it, rolling it in her fingers and admiring its bright orange packaging. "Thank you. You know, you make me feel like I can actually do this."

Unique found herself on the receiving end of a hug, which was nice – a definite benefit to actually having a girlfriend to talk to, however un-glam and prone to unfortunate hats she was.

It was a radical change from Vocal Adrenaline, where she had been Jesse's featured performer and given national attention, yes, but the multiple solos she'd gotten were only one of the many things that had ostracized her within the cutthroat group, leaving her by herself between a rock and a hard place. New Directions had lost most of the actual national champs and didn't even have enough members to compete yet and Mr. Schuester was like puppies and rainbows compared to Jesse, so they were a little more scattered and sloppy than Vocal Adrenaline ever would have been allowed to be, but they did have a sense of camaraderie. They had heart, which was more important than a routine involving back-flips and multiple pinball machines. And that was why Unique had sacrificed the glow of the spotlight and the sparkle of her bejeweled dresses to start anew.

She smiled and patted Marley's skinny back. And whether it was just coincidence or she had a fine-tuned awareness of being stared at, she also caught the blond reflection of Sam Evans in the makeup mirror, peering at them from the backstage doorway out into the hall behind the auditorium.

"What's up, Kenick?" she asked, arching a brow. Sam paused and glanced over his shoulder. Unique barely contained an eye roll. "That's you. And your line is, 'One guess.'"

Sam spoke up from the doorway, where he was standing with both thumbs thrust under the arms of his backpack like an old man wearing suspenders. "Oh. Yeah, I haven't gotten my lines memorized yet."

"You got a lot to offer a girl," said Unique dryly.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking vacant was Sam's response. Unique gave up.

"Can I help you? Perhaps with your false lashes?"

"No, I just... had... just something I wanted to ask. You know."

Marley and Unique exchanged glances in the beat where Sam was trying to get words into his brain but clearly having a difficult time of it, and it occurred to Unique shrewdly that Sam was there to talk to Marley, and she, Unique, was in the way.

"Well, I'll just toddle off, then," said Unique, standing and shutting her train case at the same time, then picking it up carefully to take back to her locker. It only barely fit in there, but it was better than leaving it backstage and just hoping it would still be there the next day.

"Thanks for the mascara," Marley said, blinking at her with one blue eye well-framed and the other just waiting.

"Give those falsies a coat when you can feel that the glue is dry. Just like yesterday."

"Okay."

Unique strolled in her kitten heels towards the door, where Sam backed up to let her and her fabulous case of makeup through. She tossed him a careless glance, hello and goodbye in one aloof tilt of her head, but instead of drifting towards the makeup mirrors and Marley, Sam shuffled after Unique.

"Hey, Wade, so –"

"Unique, honey," she interrupted. "Skirt. Heels. Wig. Lashes. Unique."

"Right," said Sam. "Sorry. I got used to calling you Wade at lunch and stuff."

"I prefer Unique, even at lunch."

"Okay. Let me start over, then. 'Hey, Unique, so...'" At her silence, Sam pressed on. "So did you get all that stuff Artie was saying about the show versus the movie?"

"Yes, fool," Unique responded, patience slightly tested. "Did you?"

"Well, I sorta stopped paying attention for a few minutes, but I read about it on Google when I was deciding what part I wanted, so hopefully I didn't miss anything I didn't already know. My point is, did he talk about... us? Rizzo and Kenickie, specifically? 'Cause in the movie they're making out half the time. Are we supposed to do that, or is it one of those things we're cutting?"

Of course. Unique saw this coming.

"Don't worry your precious head. It's all sanitized. You won't be having to kiss me in front of God and everyone. And you know, instead of lurking around waiting to catch me alone, you could've simply asked Artie about this. It was obvious your A.D.D. had kicked in. I'm sure he would've given you a watered down version."

There came a mystified beat of silence in the wake of that naked truth.

"Uh. Look, I'm sorry, again, about not calling you the right name – I promise I'll try to call you Unique from now on. And I wasn't trying to lurk. You just looked busy with girl stuff. Please don't be mad at me. Although, I guess Rizzo's always mad at Kenickie, so. Maybe it's good casting."

Unique, who was stomping to her locker like the halls of McKinley were a runway she couldn't possibly get down both quickly and with dignity, drew to an abrupt pause. Sam kept going for a couple of steps, then turned, realizing he was lapping her. He looked as nonplussed as usual, but it was an artless, what-you-see-is-what-you-get expression. Simple was the word that echoed in Unique's head. There was clearly not a lot going on in Sam's.

"Sorry, Sam," Unique said. It came out in Wade's halting, shy voice. "I'm not mad at you."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sam smiled with one side of his mouth doing all the work, a crook of lips that was dumb but strangely effective. "Cool." 

He looked confused, then, so Unique continued towards her locker. What a trip it was, even though the halls were blessedly empty of jocks slamming their elbows into Unique's. Sam came along, finding his train of thought once they were moving again.

"I wanted to ask, actually – do you think we should rehearse? Like, on our own? Kenickie and Rizzo kind of have this... rapport, in the movie. You know? Even if we have to change some words, they have that love-hate attraction going on that's totally different than Danny and Sandy. We could work on our lines together and have 'em ready for whatever Artie wants to do with 'em. I think it'd be funny if we had our own thing going and the audience could really tell."

"Rehearse?" echoed Unique. "On our own?"

"Yeah. ... Is this your locker?"

They had stopped in front of it, but Unique was totally distracted and was simply rendered motionless with her train case hanging from her hand, feeling so Wade.

"Yes."

Sam waited for her to open it, but she didn't.

"Oh," Sam said, "here."

And he took her cargo from her easily, freeing her hands and standing there with his lips smushing into each other, his boyish hand wrapped around the black handle of her leopard print train case. It took another second for Unique to whip herself back into shape and grab her combination lock. When she called up her voice it was in Unique's theatrical drawl again.

"Rehearsing can't hurt. Unique already knows her lines, but if you need help, she's willing to offer her services."

"Okay. I'll take her up on that," chuckled Sam.

"When do you propose this rehearsal take place?"

"Tonight works. Or tomorrow."

"Tonight's good for Unique."

"Do you wanna meet at the Lima Bean or something?"

"In public?" Unique asked, but quickly covered her delighted shock by ripping her locker open. It shook in its metal jamb. "Are you buying, or are you gonna make a girl pay for her iced coffee?"

"I'd never make a girl pay for iced coffee," Sam said solemnly.

"Lima Bean it is, then."

"Seven-thirty?" suggested Sam, offering her the train case.

"In the locker," directed Unique, watching him move to obediently cram the case in. A few spare syllabuses from the beginning of the school year stuck with a magnet to the locker door fluttered out of place and around their feet. "Yes. On top of the books. Other way. Turn it."

"Whoa, this is heavy," he commented in a squeaky, puppeted voice.

"Is that," Unique demanded archly, "an impression, because if so, I don't know who it is, and if it's from _Game of Thrones_ , I extra super for real don't care."

Sam heaved a breath, leaving the train case perilously fit in place. "You don't know Michael J. Fox? _Back to the Future_? Marty McFly? 'Whoa, doc. This is heavy.'" His voice shifted lower, and so did he, stooping to gather the papers he'd displaced. "'There's that word again. _Heavy_.'"

"Stop," said Unique. "What you need to do is go home and memorize your lines. If you have to do it in a Michael J. Fox or Christopher Walken voice, that is acceptable, as long as you don't break out into said voices over coffee."

At that less than impressed reception, Sam looked somewhat disappointed, but he just gave a nod and twisted the willing corner of his mouth up into a perk of acknowledgment. He stuck the syllabuses back in their place.

"Seven-thirty," Unique added.

By the time she got home, Unique had gone from cool as the other side of the pillow to hot and back again several times, and was winded, buzzing, and just a little sick to her stomach in a good way. She'd typed _coffee with Kenick_ into her phone so she wouldn't forget – as if she would forget. Actually, it was going to be impossible to think of anything else. Coffee. In public. With a boy. She was going to be seen out and about with a nom-worthy senior. The coffee aspect was so completely, exquisitely unnecessary. Other than the fact that Unique couldn't have invited him over if she wanted to and gotten away with rehearsing for a musical her parents had no idea she was in, of course. But Sam hadn't invited her over to his house, either.

"It's nothing," she sang to herself, but immediately put on Beyoncé and pulled open her closet to begin putting together an ensemble that just screamed first date.

She'd tried on and immediately rejected a trendy, bold color block dress paired with chunky gold jewelry she'd worn to glee several times, a tight-fitting zebra print blouse tucked into a high-belted black pencil skirt that made her feel killer but also like her fake boobies might be too obviously on display, and a way too formal little black dress. She was starting to look flustered, her wig a mess. Oh, God, she needed help. Her inspiration board was full of Queen B, Nicki Minaj, Rihanna, and Jennifer Hudson, but she grabbed her phone and went to someone closer to her.

"Hello?"

"Marley, talk me off a ledge."

"Whoa." Marley's voice puffed. "Are you on a ledge?"

"I'm having coffee with Sam Evans in less than an hour and I have _nothing_ to wear! Nothing!"

"Wait, you're having coffee with Sam?" asked Marley, sounding appropriately awed.

"Yes, unless I can't find an outfit, in which case I'll postpone until I can get my ass to a Torrid. Help me, what would you wear out to coffee with a guy?"

"Me? Um, I don't know. I guess just whatever I was wearing that day, or maybe like a denim skirt."

"A DENIM SKIRT," Unique barked in horror. "What the – I'm asking you as your best friend, Marley! Serious answers or get out of my face!"

"I was being serious," replied Marley, wounded. "But I know you probably wouldn't wear a denim skirt. You're a little more fabulous than me. Is that okay to say?"

"Ugh, yes," Unique sighed. "Unique is a little more fabulous than most. But that's just it. We're not going to the opera or a smoky little jazz club where I can wear my feather boa and big, blingy headband. I won't be lounging on a chaise in a salon. It's coffee. But when I try and tone it down, I just wind up looking like a cougar on the prowl. The animal print doesn't help, but. _Mature_ is what I mean. Too Joan Holloway."

"Why do you have to dress any different?"

The conversation was interrupted by Unique's mother calling up the stairs. "Wade! It's dinnertime."

"I'm doing homework and I don't want to lose my momentum!" Unique called back.

"Well, all right..."

Unique focused back on Marley. "Sorry. My mom was yelling for me. As I was saying, I have to change. I am not wearing my Rizzo costume to coffee with Sam."

"I mean, just wear something you've worn before and don't worry about it," advised Marley. "Just wear your favorite thing – whatever you feel good in – and don't worry about where you are. If it's kind of fancy, who cares? You'll be the best-dressed person there. And people like confidence. I know I like confidence."

"That's true." Unique paused, realizing the wisdom of the advice and laughing at herself under her breath. "I knew I called you for a reason. Thanks, girl."

"Oh, did I help? You're welcome."

"Pink color block it is," Unique decided out loud, and put her phone on speaker so she could set it down on her dresser and change into a standby favorite, already mentally pairing it with a chunky studded belt and her not-terribly-little black suede ankle booties.

"So is this a date?" Marley asked, her voice filling Unique's room. "Did Sam ask you out on a date?"

"Oh, it's – not anything. We're going to go over our scenes and rehearse a little. But I've kind of got butterflies anyway. I've never hung out with a boy one-on-one."

"Have fun," Marley said. "But just... I don't think Sam is gay, so..."

"Well, it's a good thing he's not, because if he was, he'd like men, and I'm not a man," Unique replied breezily.

"Okay. Well... good, then. I think. You know, it kind of sounds like you like Sam."

"Like? More like tolerate. But he is ubercandy for the eyes."

"Yeah, he's really cute. He makes a really good Kenickie. I mean, he's cuter than the Kenickie from the movie, I think."

"Agreed, but keep your eyes on your own T-Bird," teased Unique.

"I don't have a T-Bird," Marley demurred. Unique could practically hear her flustered blush over the phone.

"Okay, Sandra Dee. I totally want to continue this conversation, but Unique's gotta touch up and fly. There is some major hair repair work that needs to happen in the next ten minutes."

"Call me later."

"Unique will."

She hung up and adjusted her dress over her chest, deciding after a second that it wasn't the fabric that was uneven, but her gel-padded bra, and pulled it straight on her torso. Unique was proud of herself, frankly. Well, she was always proud. That was a staple feature of Unique that had yet to corrode from red dye number five or any matter of pushes, shoves, or bigoted insults, and it never would, or Unique would not be Unique. But she was proud that even though she was sweating unnaturally and nervous like she was headed off to a competition and not just coffee, she hadn't totally lost her damn mind and spilled all the details the womanly part of her was dying to share – the things that made her alternately flush and freeze. Sam had purposefully waited to talk to her; he'd asked her if they could get together. He'd held her makeup case for her. He'd said he'd never make a girl pay for iced coffee.

"Wade? Wade, your dinner's in the oven, honey," called her mom as she slipped out the front door.

Unique was under control by the time she hit the Lima Bean in all her carefully-styled glory. Her lip gloss had a gold foil shimmer. Her skin was lotiony smooth. She'd thrown on an I-don't-care cardigan. So demure.

Unexpectedly, Sam was already there and changed clothes, too. The change wasn't necessarily into nicer clothes – just a different t-shirt than earlier, plain, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. His script was bent awkwardly in half and was sticking out his back pocket.

Grandly, Unique greeted him: "Small caramel frappuccino, easy on the ice."

With a nod, Sam mouthed the order silently as he walked off to order, concentrating hard.

Unique snagged a corner table, slumping into a chair. It was different being in the Lima Bean during the evening than it was in the afternoon. Usually lots of white sunlight poured in and lit the place up. Now little yellow lamps provided most of the light, giving it a cozy feel. She pulled her script out, most of her attentions on Sam's figure as he stood in the small line, hands shoved into his hoodie's pockets. Somehow, in the past few hours, he'd become someone new to her, even though it was still the same guy whose mouth noisily smothered everything he put in it at the lunch table and who almost never did anything exactly on time with the rest of the New Directions. He was still simple, and a dork, but he'd become exciting.

He returned with two drinks, one in a plain paper cup and one in a transparent domed cup. Hers had _Rizzo_ written on the side, and as Sam sat down across from her, she spotted a _K_ on the side of his cup.

"I'm so excited you're my Kenickie," burst Unique. A flood had been building behind some dam in her, and the names on their cups cracked it right in two. "You're perfect, as long as you don't mumble."

She watched Sam's face go from blank to cautiously delighted, his smile tentative but right there on his lippy-lips.

"Thanks," he said in a small voice, handing her a straw.

For a second, Unique tilted her head, waiting for a similar compliment but not exactly holding her breath.

"This was a good idea," she told him, pulling her drink toward her. "I was thinking about what you said about us – Rizzo and Kenickie. They do have a relationship that's totally different than Danny and Sandy. I think it's a really good idea to have our own off-stage relationship. Interact, you know. As our characters. It'll really make it... believable. To the audience."

Sam leaned forward, elbows tucked into his own lap. "Yeah, you know, when I watch _Grease_ , I get this feeling Rizzo and Kenickie have their own way of communicating that only they really get. Like nobody else could appreciate them but each other. But I think a lot of it must've been in the direction, 'cause it's not in the script. Not really. The stuff they say is there but it's kinda just words on a page. I was thinking it'd be pretty awesome if we could put our own spin on it. Steal the spotlight from the newbies a little bit. Show 'em why we made it to Nationals."

"Everyone with an ounce of brains knows Rizzo and Kenickie are the actual stars of _Grease_ ," Unique said as a flat truth, earning herself a grin. She took advantage of it. "And stealing the spotlight so happens to be what I do best. Aren't you glad I'm your Rizzo?"

Sam just stared across the table with eyes that were naturally round.

Sternly, Unique said, "Need I remind you that I was voted MVP at Nationals, can hit every note Mercedes Jones can, and have been singing 'There Are Worse Things I Could Do' since the age of four? Or do my credentials threaten you, along with my size and skin color? What do you have against curvy black women?"

Sam's eyes widened further. "Uh, nothing at all. The last girl I dated was a curvy black woman."

Unique, on the other hand, squinted. "Interesting. 'Tell me more, tell me more.'"

At that, he huffed out a laugh and shook his head, digging his script out of his back pocket.

"I'm not Danny this time around, so. Being Kenickie and Rizzo with you is gonna be really good. So do you wanna just start?"

He thumbed the script open to a dog-eared page. Unique saw that his lines were highlighted yellow. Hers were, of course, pink. She turned to her matching page, even though she didn't really need it.

They read a bit, and it was clunky as hell, but they went back and repeated it several times, and each time, Sam was at least fifty percent better. Suddenly, the manager was at their table telling them they were closing. The hour and a half or so had zoomed by in a smattering of moments: Sam trying to pop his non-existent collar, Unique smacking him with her rolled-up script and calling him a pig, Sam pantomiming getting hit with a freezing milkshake (a sensation all too familiar to anyone in glee club). He pumped his fist when he made it through a read and chewed through his "hickey from Kenickie" line with extreme vigor every time. Apparently he was drinking hot chocolate because coffee would've kept him awake – not she, she was practically immune to caffeine. At some point he imitated Figgins to great effect, and, okay, he was actually really good at impressions. Annoying!

Outside, a chill hung in the air; it had rained while they were indoors, concentrating on their private rehearsal. Unique immediately regretted wearing her suede booties.

"Maybe we could rehearse again this weekend," Sam said, unaware of her shoes and hair suffering in the wetness.

"Sunday works," said Unique. "All the girls are going to Kitty's this weekend for a slumber party. And yes, we're going to dress up in sexy lingerie and have pillow fights and experiment with each other, sexually."

The dry remark had Sam smiling.

"Maybe I'll load up the guys in my crappy car and we'll come harass you girls."

"What do you think this is, a gang-bang?"

"I'll tell 'em to hit the pavement."

"All right." Her face was too warm. "Unique appreciates your knowledge of the source material."

"It's Kenickie, dude! The role I was born to play."

"Okay, _dude_ ," said Unique. "You've successfully killed any scant hint of romance in this little scene. I bid you adieu, Kenick."

"Yeah. Adieu, Rizz," said Sam, lifting a hand that he still managed to keep in his pocket and lifting the entire front of his hoodie up.

Unique rolled her eyes, but on the way home, she turned off her iPod and concentrated instead on belting out Rizzo's big number in the private safety of her car, with raindrops keeping staccato beat. She was already automatically filtering the evening into the things she would call and tell Marley ( _he is so cute, but oh, so dumb; that boy cannot handle caffeine; he dated a curvy black girl last year – what do you want to bet it was none other than Mercedes Jones? We need to investigate this_ ) and the things she intended to keep to herself ( _He put our names on our cups. I almost died. I know it wasn't a date-date, but I can't lie, I'm feeling kind of twitterpated... I can't wait till this weekend_ ). Some things she could share with Marley, but some things... weren't anything.

As stupid as it was, she let herself float through her front door rather than strut. Unique's mother heard her wafting on fluffy clouds up the stairs.

"Wade, there you are. Oh, sorry, honey. You're being Unique. Can you come down here, please?"

"Am I in trouble?" Unique asked automatically. "I finished my homework before I left."

Her mom just looked at her. "Your father and I got a call from your principal and we'd like to talk to you about it."

"Unique does not like the sound of that."

"No 'thank you for keeping my dinner warm, Mom'?"

In Figgins' office the next day, Unique disconnected herself and watched the principal's nostrils flare as he spoke. She couldn't help hearing everything he said as if shaped through Sam's mouth, inserting his whuffling chuckles into pauses. Everything sounded like a joke, like Sam's jerked recitation of, _Quiet, students. Quiet, please, children._

She found herself fantasizing, cruel and morose, about hanging onto Sam's leather T-Birds jacket, fingers under the collar, tugging on it. His chest manly against hers. His arm around her, both casual and possessive. A stage kiss becoming real, despite everything. Maybe he'd let her drape his jacket over her shoulders. Maybe he'd absently palm the small of her back and kiss her cheek. Maybe they'd fit anyone's definition of "high school sweethearts." Maybe he'd always bring her coffee with the name Rizzo, and he would always be her Kenickie. It was only a few seconds of irresponsible dreaming, but it escalated the pain of the loss tenfold.

Something to draw from, she supposed. But for what performance?

"Wade Adams, you can return to your sewing exam in Home Ec."

This... and all his dreams. They were only his to marvel at and briefly touch, but never to keep. For a few hours, he'd occupied a role, and now that it was over, he knew that was all it ever really was. Just a role.

Wade found Sam at his locker, smearing ChapStick onto his mouth in a slightly secretive way. His round eyes took in Wade standing there in his dull sweater and checkered shirt, and Wade had a second to watch him finish making out with the waxy stick before he recapped it.

"'Sup, Rizz?"

The easy way those words were offered made it hard to speak.

"It's with a heavy heart I tell you that I'm quitting the play," said Wade. "I wanted you to hear it from me and not from Finn."

"Wait, what? You're quitting?"

"Not by choice. My parents are pulling me from it. And I'm no longer allowed to be Unique during school hours. Not that that affects you in any way."

Sam leaned slowly against the locker next to his, plaid shoulder butting into it.

"Wow. That sucks," seemed to be all he could think of to say. At least he sounded legitimately shocked.

"Yes. It really, really does. Well –" His voice shook. He was dangerously close to tears, but he simply did not feel like crying in the McKinley hallway, so he forcefully took hold of it. "I'm sure you'll be a fantastic Kenickie."

Sam looked at him, mouth quirking in a way Wade interpreted as sympathetic pity.

"Rizzo's a really heavy role, isn't it?" he asked. "How are they gonna replace you this late?"

Honestly, Wade couldn't even think about it. He imagined Brittany S. Pierce would take the role: a blonde Rizzo to go with their brunette Sandy. Then Sam would have a real love interest.

He sighed, memories still fresh and close, "'There's that word again. Heavy.'"

Sam's brow perked. "'Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with Earth's gravitational pull?'"

Just like that, Unique roared back to life and tossed an eye roll Sam's way.

"Sam Evans, you are cute like a baby duck, but let Unique offer you some advice. Girls do not care about impressions. If you simply must do it, do it once, and only do it again if they ask. Save the voices and the nerdy TV show quotes for the guys. Don't call girls 'dude.' Not even ones who are just friends. Do continue to buy girls their coffees and hold heavy things for them. That is gentlemanly. It was nice to date you in a fictional sense. Now, adieu forever, Kenick."

She sailed away, chin up.

Left in her wake, Sam muttered, "Bye, Unique."


End file.
